


The Enterprise's First (and Last) Thanksgiving

by faithfulpenelope



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfulpenelope/pseuds/faithfulpenelope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's starts with a lover's quarrel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Enterprise's First (and Last) Thanksgiving

It starts with a lover’s quarrel.

Actually, it starts with the ship’s counselor. She’s a Betazoid, but her husband’s from Earth, from an old-school family that still celebrated the old American holidays, even though the United States had been gone for two hundred years.

“Thanksgiving,” she explains. “It’s tradition.”

Kirk’s got nothing against tradition, and figures it’s been quiet lately, the crew could use something to look forward to. So he agrees, and Dr. Trevi goes off happily to plan for their next supply stop.

Now, looking around the mess hall, he’s glad he’s agreed, because the crew is laughing and the center table is full of delicious food. The only ones missing are Spock, who is suffering from a weird strain of Vulcan flu, and Uhura, who has appointed herself his nursemaid, even though Spock has been sedated by McCoy. But the doctor has assured him his first officer is on the mend, so Kirk raises his glass, makes a short speech about how lucky he is to have the best crew in Starfleet, and tucks into his meal.

Then he hears the scuffle.

It’s Ensigns Mercer and Bergen from the shuttle bay and Kirk winces because he heard from a reliable source – namely, a post-coital McCoy, who just couldn’t help himself – that Bergen returned from their last shore level with a particularly itchy case of Q’uarthian genital shingles. Kirk had groaned in sympathy. “Those are the worst,” he’d moaned, and McCoy laughed.

Then Mercer shrieks something in Andorian that Kirk can only guess meant _you cheating son of a bitch_ and upends her plate over her partner’s head.

“Hey, now,” Kirk says mildly, because, really, the guy probably deserves it. But the flurry of food doesn’t just hit the other ensign, it hits Lieutenant Jacobson too, who’s only just back on solid foods after a battle with a Mauldothian tape worm, and is, as such, on a short fuse. She narrows her eyes at Mercer and there’s a long moment of silence before a handful of potatoes goes flying in Mercer’s direction. Mercer ducks, and the potatoes smack Nurse Taylor instead, who gives an indignant yelp.

Kirk’s not sure what happens after that, other than at some point, someone – he suspects Scotty, from the accent – yells, “food fight!” and all hell breaks loose.

“Shouldn’t you be stopping this?” McCoy yells at him, ducks a piece of turkey that flies past his shoulder. It hits the wall with a splat and sticks there.

Kirk opens his mouth to do just that, except around him, his entire crew is laughing, hollering, ducking food and teasing insults as they tear around, upending tables and building forts like children. He grins at Bones and gives a shrug. “It’s a food fight, Bones!”

“You _infant_ , how you ever got a star ship is beyond me -”

“Captain!” Sulu crashes into his side, deflects a green bean casserole bomb with a lunch tray. “Careful, Scotty’s got the desserts!”

“Take cover!” Kirk yells, and drops down. They heave the table up on its side just as Scotty appears, something round in his hand and a demented look on his face. Kirk rolls behind, Sulu and Chekov following, as the pie slams the end of the table. Blueberry filing sprays over them in a thick mist.

“That was close,” Kirk says. “Wait. Where’s Bones?”

Sulu and Chekov exchange a look.

“He defected,” Sulu says solemnly. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“What – he would never -” Kirk hazards a glance over the table in the corner. He sees flashes of blue moving around behind it. “Bones!”

“My staff needs their leader!” the answer flies back, along with a crab cake – three crab cakes actually, smashed together. Kirk’s so shocked, he doesn’t duck in time, and it hits his shoulder and flies apart.

“Traitor!” he shrieks. “You – you blue-shirted turncoat! See if I ever let you on my bridge again!”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Bones hollers back, and Kirk scowls.

“Fine,” he spits out. “Chekov!” The navigator holds out a perfectly formed potato and meatloaf bomb. Kirk takes it, feels its weight in his hand. “War it is, then!” His aim is true and he can hear the splat as it lands, followed by a cry that sounds like Chapel.

“My hair,” she wails.

“Damn it, Jim!”

Kirk grins.

“That was our last one,” Sulu says. “One of us is going to have to go out there.” The three of them peak over the table. The main buffet stands in the middle of the room, almost untouched.

“I’ll go,” Kirk says, and Chekov shakes his head.

“Nyet, Captain. You are too big a target. You provide a distraction, and I will go. I am quick and small. Also, people think I am very cute, and will feel bad about throwing at me.”

Kirk raises an eyebrow at Chekov’s bravado, then turns to Sulu with a _you believe this?_ face.

Sulu shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like he’s wrong.”

“All right then, Ensign. Into the breach you go.”

“Aye, Captain. In case I do not return…” he salutes Kirk, and Kirk rolls his eyes but salutes back. “It was an honor serving with you.”

“Likewise,” Kirk says.

“Hikaru.” Chekov gives him a hard kiss. “I expect you will remain in mourning for the rest of your life. Also, celibate.”

“Of course,” Sulu dead-pans, and Chekov nods and dips around the end of the table. Kirk waits a second before he stands.

“This is your captain speaking,” he booms, and as fast as he hits the deck it’s almost not fast enough as a barrage of food comes flying his way. “Jesus,” he pants. “I’m beginning to think the crew has some pent-up hostility towards me.”

Then there’s a shout and a flash of gold and black and Chekov vaults over the table, lands with an _oof_ next to Kirk. The bowls of stuffing and mashed potatoes in his arms tilt dangerous but stay upright. “Ammunition, Captain,” he says proudly, and Kirk whoops.

“All right, boys, we need a strategy.” There’s a pool of gravy on the floor behind them and Kirk drags a finger through, making a rough sketch of the room, as Sulu and Chekov form more bombs. “Medical’s to our left. Security and Sciences are at our 2 o’clock. But the real problem is Engineering behind the bar. There’s no way we’re getting back there without heavy causalities.”

“Also they have a good supply of fruit,” Sulu adds. “That shit stings when it hits you.”

“We will need to team up with someone,” Chekov says. “As Security and Sciences have already formed an alliance, that leaves us Medical.”

“Fuck that,” Kirk swears. “Bones can fend for himself, that traitorous bastard.”

“It’s our only option,” Sulu says. “Otherwise, Engineering can just stay where they are and wait for the rest of us to run out of ammunition.”

Kirk huffs. “Fine.” A baked sweet potato sails over the table and splats into the gravy. Sulu grabs it like it’s a grenade, lobs it back from where it came. There’s a yelp and someone – Kirk is pretty sure Skylar from stellar cartography – whines, “I got gravy in my eye!”

“Dr. McCoy!” That’s Hendorff, Kirk’s sure of it. “Some help!”

“Can she still see?”

Kirk watches Hendorff’s head peak up over the table. “Uh, yes – hey!” A ball of ice cream smacks into his hairline and McCoy cackles evilly.

“Then you better put your field training to use, Lieutenant!”

“Oh, _damn_ ,” Sulu says. “He’s gone full metal jacket on us.”

“I always knew Bones had it in him.” Jim feels strangely proud, and a little turned on.

“We need to get a message over there,” Sulu is saying. “But how?”

“I know. Chekov, give me your shirt.” The ensign looks at Kirk, then Sulu, then shrugs and pulls off his gold shirt. Kirk grabs it, lays it flat, then dips his finger in the gravy and writes out a message across the back.

“ _Align with us or else_ ,” Sulu reads. “Short and to the point.”

“Get me another bomb,” Kirk commands, and Chekov grabs some stuffing in one hand and potatoes in another and smashes them together tightly. Kirk wraps the shirt around it and ties off the arms. “Okay, here goes nothing. Hey, McCoy! Incoming!”

“The hell -” The package hits with a thud and there’s some confused whispering from the Medical camp. Across the room there’s a yell and Kirk peeks over to see two security officers falling back from the bar, slices of lime and lemon plastered to their skin.

“This a trick, Kirk?” McCoy yells.

“Would I tell you if it was?” Kirk retorts out of instinct, and Sulu shoots him a look. “I mean, no. Come over to our side and we’ll protect you.” He yelps as a ball of sherbet and pie crust whizzes past his ear.

“Seems like we’re doing just fine on our own,” Chapel snarks. “And that was for my hair.”

“We know your supplies are running out,” Chekov yells back. “We, on the other hand, have plenty of ammunition.”

“Yeah, I saw your suicide run,” McCoy says sourly. “That’s dirty tricks, Kirk, using the little innocent ensign as your huntin’ dog.” Chekov gestures towards McCoy’s voice, as if to say, _see?_ and Kirk rolls his eyes.

“You joinin’ us or no?” he hollers.

“I think we’ll take our chances – oh, damn it!” There’s a series of splats from the direction of Engineering and the smell of olives and grenadine fills the air, along with Scotty’s booming laughter. “Fuck. Fine! We’re coming over!” The table tilts toward Kirk and Bones tumbles over, followed by Nurses Chapel and Taylor and a confused-looking man Kirk vaguely recognizes as their new physical therapist. He’d been in meetings when the man had come aboard and hadn’t made his way down for introductions yet. _No time like the present_ , he figures, and holds out a gravy-stained hand. “Welcome aboard, Doctor. Captain Jim Kirk. Behind me are Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu and Ensign Pavel Chekov, our finest tactical team.”

“Doctor,” they chorus.

“Dr. John Miller,” the doctor says. “You’ll understand if I keep my hands to myself.”

“What – oh, sure, sure.” Kirk turns to McCoy. “As for _you_ , we will discuss this _betrayal_ later.”

“Whatever,” McCoy says, and shakes an olive out of his shirt. “We gonna do this, or what?”

“All right. As we were saying, the real problem is Engineering. We’re going to need a multi-front attack if we’re going to shake them loose -”

“What is the meaning of this?”

Kirk freezes. A pearl of gravy drips from his outstretched finger as the entire room goes quiet.

“Bones,” Kirk hisses at McCoy, “you told me he was going to be asleep for another six hours!”

“He should have been,” McCoy hisses back. “It’s that damn Vulcan physiology of his!”

There’s a squishing sound as Spock makes his way to the center of the room. Chekov hazards a quick glance around the side of the table. _Spock AND Uhura_ , he mouths, and Kirk groans under his breath.

“Who is responsible here?” There’s an edge in Spock’s voice that Kirk just knows means bad things. Official report bad. He sighs, goes to haul himself up and take his knocks, when McCoy’s hand shoves him back down.

“I am,” McCoy says, and when Kirk tugs at his pant leg he kicks him away. “It’s my fault, Spock.”

“No, it’s my fault.” Scotty’s voice comes over the side of the bar and he pops up, red shirt stained with juice.

“You are saying you are both responsible for this?” Spock asks.

“We’re saying we’re the ranking officers here,” Scotty says.

“Where is the Captain?” Uhura’s voice is suspicious. “If you’re here, he’s here, Leonard.”

“He had to take a call,” Bones lies.

“You realize I will have to report this to him,” Spock says, and Kirk watches McCoy’s face do that special Spock-related twitch. “This is a gross misuse of Starfleet supplies as well as highly unbecoming conduct for a Starfleet officer.

“How about we agree to clean it up and we call it even,” Scotty suggests. “It was just so harmless fun, Commander. Some crew bonding, even.”

There’s a long silence and then, to Kirk’s eternal surprise, Spock agrees. “Provided the captain agrees,” he adds, and McCoy has to hold back a snort.

“Thank you, sir,” Scotty says instead. “We’ll get right on it.”

“Very well. I expect this room to be returned to normal by the end of this shift. And expect everyone will help.” There’s a chorus of _yes, sir_ from all over the room. With that, Spock turns and leaves, Uhura following close behind. Kirk waits a second, then stands.

“Thanks, Scotty,” he says. “I appreciate you taking the heat.”

“Ah, a good crew always protects their captain,” the engineer says. “Now come on, all. Let’s get to cleaning.”

“What about _me_?” McCoy’s face is one of indignation but Kirk just eyes him.

“That’s the least you could do for betraying me,” he says.

“Oh for the love of – excuse me for siding with my staff.”

“It was admirable, it’s true, but you belong by _my_ side, damn it.”

McCoy makes a _hrmph_ sound but there’s a smile playing at his lips. “Understood, Captain,” he grumps, but it lacks any heat, and Kirk grins.

“Good. Oh, and Bones?”

“Yeah?”

McCoy’s reflexes are good but Kirk’s are better and his hand is up under McCoy’s shirt before he can stop him. McCoy howls as the mashed potatoes smear all over his stomach.

“That was for the crab cakes.”


End file.
